


Tulpa

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daud won't admit that he misses The Outsider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tulpa

**Author's Note:**

> **Dishonored Tumblr Blog:** carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com

Before the spread of the Abbey’s teachings and influence, the world revolved around the Old Gods. 

Daud only knows of them thanks to his mother, the only one bold enough to continue to whisper out old tales that have been shunned by the world. She shared stories of destruction, how Pandyissia was once seen as a conglomerate of their chaos and wonder, and how the Old Gods would touch the ground to engage intimately with their worshippers. There has always been a common trend in the stories regarding the latter: nothing good ever comes from such arrangements. 

It’s all Daud can think of with his latest target’s blood splattering on his boots.

It came as an unwelcome surprise to discover that The Outsider no longer found him of interest. Daud has a few ideas as to why: too many throats have been slit, he lost sight of his own morals, and became too enamored over the idea of sustaining his new namesake. At first, Daud managed to brush the matter aside as The Outsider being childish and sooner or later, The Outsider will come back. When the weeks began to turn into months, each shrine vacant, did panic begin to surface. He spent a good portion of his life chasing after the entity’s interest and Daud knows he misses not so much The Outsider, but the singular attention he provides.

By the time the anniversary of their dissonance rolls in, Daud has accepted The Outsider won’t return, continuing on with his work. With a detached air, he discovers he finds their separation beneficial and The Outsider holds no more use in his life.

He didn’t expect to think of The Outsider, now, years later. He didn’t expect to think of The Outsider with warm blood still sitting on his blade, the scent hitting his nostrils, the assassin drawing in a shaky breath. Daud’s mind fixates on the dark-eyed entity and how he once pulled him into The Void after a successful mission, greeting him with a _‘my dear Daud.’_ His mind plays and plays again the image of a pale finger tracing the mark on his hand with satisfaction, not quite sure if it’s an actual memory or completely fabricated. Then, the stories of ancient gods kissing too roughly their faithful followers until they've split into atoms and nothingness. What sets him off kilter is the prohibition of the interaction, surprisingly stirring heat and interest in his gut.

It’s scandalous to think of The Outsider other than his benefactor. Certainly, The Outsider carries pleasing features, such as the high rise of his cheekbones to the set of his brows, but these have been more observatory reflections. He never toyed with the thought of intimacy with the dark-eyed entity, let alone view The Outsider as arousing. To be frank, he thought it foolish for the representative of The Void to look like a drowned man. 

_It never stopped you from calling for him,_ a voice cruelly points out. 

Daud gives a dismissive grunt and wipes his blade clean, leaving with purposeful strides. Nothing good comes from thinking intimately of the otherworldly. 

The words of caution does nothing to stop said thoughts. He doesn’t stop thinking of the finger tracing his mark, _‘my dear Daud’_ rolling off of The Outsider’s mouth with something akin to praise. The image cycles and morphs with each repeat, piecing together the rise of The Outsider’s cheeks to the dry, chapped swell of his bottom lip. He wonders what The Outsider looks underneath the jacket. If the skin is just as pale as his hands or if his hipbones stick out just as prominently like his cheeks. By the time he reaches the hideout, he is disgustingly aware that his trousers feel far too tight for comfort and it’s because of _him._

If absence makes the heart fonder, he’s not quite sure what to call this. He chalks it up as him craving The Outsider’s attention, his mind shoving endless possibilities of how it can be achieved or — 

Daud snarls, vigorously shaking his head in disapproval. _This_ is foolishness. 

His irritation does well in masking his arousal when he returns to the hideout, tension bunching in his shoulders, barking out orders for the others not to disturb him. He could just traverse himself into his study, but he doesn’t trust himself to utilize The Void’s gifts, at the moment. 

The study doors are hastily locked once he steps inside, but it’s more of a superficial gesture, becoming acutely aware of the windows and open space creating a halo around each door. The assassin grits his teeth, turning his attention elsewhere, fighting for whatever privacy he can sliver out of this space. 

Daud slams the study’s windows closed, the glass shuddering at his abrasive movements, trapping the humid heat and himself in the same room. By the time Daud turns to the stairs, he’s sweating, fingers fumbling for his trousers like he’s years younger. There is something of a laugh leaving his mouth, surprised when he finds himself half hard, gloved fingers attempting to curl around his cock. The fabric of his trousers makes the motion difficult, fabric unyielding. A frustrated hiss squeezes itself past his teeth.

Daud abandons his efforts, climbing the rest of the stairs to sit on his bed, eagerly kicking off his boots and trousers. Gloved fingers quickly return, his toes curling at the dry, nearly painful, pull of skin as he strokes himself. It’s hardly comfortable — _hardly enough_ — and he feels as if he’s composed of all mindless want than actual thought. It's a bit freeing to keep that mindset, feeling the responsibility of his actions lessening.

A dark sound reverberates in his chest when sweat slips into his eye, relinquishing his grip to aggressively pull the rest of his clothes off. The room is becoming grotesquely inhabitable with the wet heat. It’s a bit cooler on the first floor, but privacy isn’t guaranteed. It’s cooler with the windows open, but he doesn’t trust himself or the others. 

A sigh of relief leaves him when he manages to peel the remainder of his clothes off, uncaring for how he’s sweating into the sheets of his bed, hands free of their gloves, returning to touch skin. His right hand pushes the sweat collecting on the inseam of his thighs, tilting back into the bed until he’s sprawled out on display. Daud rubs the collected sweat onto his cock, providing a temporary, slicked relief. It’s a poor substitute, but the assassin is unwilling to move from the bed to find something more suitable, stubbornly enduring the mild discomfort. 

It doesn’t take long for a curious sound to accompany Daud’s heavy breathing, chilled fingers replacing his. 

Daud sucks in the air sharply, momentarily rigid as foreign fingers trace the base of his cock, following an engorged vein upward. There is a moment of hesitation before he's pressing upward into the touch, wishing for more. Daud is answered with nothing but an amused hum, but they promisingly drift upward, exploring each curve and ridge. Curious fingers circle the head of his cock, airy and brief, before they’re back at his thighs. Daud doesn’t bother to hide his disappointment, legs bending and unfolding restlessly on the bed.

“I’m enjoying exploring our friendship,” _his_ voice fills his ears. It’s too easy to imagine _him_ when he closes his eyes. It’s too easy to imagine The Outsider sitting between his legs, adorned in his timeless attire, dark eyes a sharp contrast to his pale skin. “If we can call it that,” the dark-eyed entity adds, mirth dripping off his tongue. He feels like an offering to The Void's representative, now under scrutiny for it's worth and to be picked and pulled apart, ever so curious as to how he's put together. 

Daud isn’t sure how to respond. He’s not sure if he wants to, in fear that it might shatter the illusion.

The Outsider’s lips only curl upward, knowingly, his fingers rising up from his thigh to one of his hipbones, idly tapping on it. They both know this isn’t real and Daud can’t tell if the heat creeping across his neck is from shame or excitement.

The entity’s fingers are finding their way back on his cock when he becomes bored with Daud's hip, an index finger curiously following the subtle arc. His eyes greedily take in the sight of The Outsider between his legs, eyes fixated on the way the way the youthful looking entity's lips part just enough where he can see the white of his teeth. The touch is still too light, but he can feel, already, that feverish energy building. He’s already close, a groan locked behind his clenched jaw, when The Outsider swipes at the leaking precum.

The Outsider gives a considering sound and Daud can hear the annoying _‘interesting’_ rattling away in that smug bastard’s head. Daud doesn’t openly complain, he only pants in the sweltering space, feeling his hips shake when pressure is added. There is weight and purpose when The Outsider touches him, this time. His fingers curl around him, giving him a space to push into. Daud is idly aware of the sensation of callouses and of his own hand, a noise of frustration leaving him when he feels this fantasy beginning to unravel. 

This isn't The Outsider. It's just him. It's always been just him.

Out of desperation to keep this going, he brazenly imagines lips instead of fingers. He imagines the rough scratch is from The Outsider’s chapped lips, the entity rubbing his bottom lip against him, allowing sweat and something else to give it a glossy sheen. 

It works, a relieved sound sitting in his throat as he lifts his hips from the mattress, watching his cock push past lips and hit a wall of teeth, sliding against it. Daud huffs in frustration, a hand itching to reach down and find The Outsider’s jaw — to push his thumb into the juncture and encourage his mouth to open for him. 

“I’m surprised, Daud,” The Outsider voices out against his heated skin. The assassin gives a punched out sound in return at the sound of his name. Managing to sound utterly bored and intrigued in the same breath, The Outsider concludes, “I never expected you to imagine me in this manner.” 

Daud freezes in surprise, choking on an erupting moan as he spills into The Outsider’s lips. He isn’t given a moment to enjoy the sight, the illusion instantly crumbling. The Outsider isn't settled between his legs as he had hoped, only finding his fist gripping his cock too tightly, gritting his teeth when pain is acknowledged. Reality returns and he becomes aware of his general discomfort and his own actions. He's not sure whether his cheeks are colored due to the heat or from shame. Against his better judgement, he wipes his hand off on the bed before stumbling onto his feet, making his way to the nearest window to open it. The outside air is a welcoming balm and he greedily embraces it.

He still is too stunned to process The Outsider’s last comment. It felt too independent. It felt too real. Daud can only respond with a swear, hating the way it leaves his mouth like a term of endearment rather than an insult.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
